


The Rebound Game

by Hello_Spikey



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-28
Updated: 2009-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-02 07:29:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15791865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hello_Spikey/pseuds/Hello_Spikey
Summary: Remember Sunday, the college co-ed vampire who teased Buffy at the beginning of season 4?  Ever wonder who turned her?





	The Rebound Game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cafedemonde](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=cafedemonde).



> This is for **cafedemonde** who requested: _How about some Spike/Sunday, pre-season 4 Buffy?_
> 
> So this is season 3-ish, post "Lovers Walk", pre "Harsh Light of Day"  
> PG-13, warnings for het sex (not too explicit)

She was young, pretty, and had just enough of a goth edge to her fashionable clothes to be easy pickings for the punk bad-boy. Spike wasn’t feeling motivated for the hunt tonight, so he just set down his beer and walked over with his patented panty-removing smile.

Sunday turned his way, not on purpose, just randomly, saw the figure moving toward her purposefully and said, “No, I don’t think so.”

Spike blinked, looked behind himself (in case some tosser was there putting him off his game), and said, “You don’t think what, sunshine?”

She swiveled the bar stool around to address him. “I don’t think I’m naïve enough for you.”

Spike leaned against the bar like a languid beast, his mouth partially open to sent the air. “Wasn’t looking for naïve, love.”

Sunday raised a perfectly-sculpted eyebrow. “You just got dumped, love boy. It’s written all over you, and I don’t have time to do the rebound dance. Come back when you’re over Miss Love-of-my-life, kay?”

“I have not…” Spike’s scowl melted into confusion. “How could you tell?”

“You practically mouthed ‘this’ll show her’ as you sauntered over here all over-compensating.”

Did he? Spike frowned. No, of course not! He wasn’t even thinking of his dark, achingly beautiful, fickle princess… oh, bollocks. “Right. Thanks so very little, smart-mouth bint…” he muttered, turning to leave, and nearly running into Angel.

“Spike,” Angel said, like it was a curse, or something he’d just stepped in.

Spike exhaled sharply. “Oh no, the dark avenger. What ever shall I do?”

“I’m not going to let you hunt in my town.”

“That’s funny – I don’t recall asking permission. Shouldn’t you be off mooning over your ‘friend’ the slayer? Oh, that’s right – you’re nearly an adult now, after a quarter century of existence – you don’t ‘moon’, you ‘mope’.” Spike touched his tongue to his teeth, grinning merrily.

Angel stepped close, so their chests bumped. “Get out of Sunnydale,” he said. “Run along home to Dru, or I’ll…”

“Ask me to ‘step outside’?” Spike pushed his chest. “Think you can get the other blokes on the t-ball team to take me out?”

Under his breath, Angel growled, “I’m not about to start a scene in a public place, Spike. Consider yourself warned.”

Angel turned on his heel and stalked out of the bar. Spike laughed. “Oo! I’m warned!”

Sunday slipped off her barstool and stood, head tilted back, studying Spike.

“Wot?” he asked, returning to the bar and his abandoned drink.

She stepped in front of him and slipped her hand under his duster. “I changed my mind. You’re trouble. I like that.”

She smiled as her hands felt tight muscle under the worn cotton t-shirt. She pulled him close, exploring the nice feel of him and smirking up at his face. Spike’s expression was caught between emotions, trying to suss out if he was pleased with this development or about to push her away and tell her off.

Sunday gripped his ass and, without much more than a buy-your leave, nipped his jawline. “Come on, loveboy. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

She was young, and her body soft and warm against him, and she was moving now, dancing against him languidly with the innate confidence of youth.

“Sure, love. Lets have some fun.” He lifted her up onto the bar, and they shared a grin as the bartender protested loudly.

To the beautiful music of the angered establishment, they made out. Spike plunged in for a deep kiss, sliding his hands up her body to squeeze and fondle every soft curve as his tongue plundered her mouth and he absorbed the delicious warmth. He was rock-hard and ready to slide his fangs in.

Sunday broke the kiss off, gasping for air. “Just so we’re clear? This is a one-night stand. I’m a senior next year and I’m not looking for baggage.”

“Bet I can change your mind,” he purred.

“Bet you can’t.”

Spike lifted her off the bar and started toward the exit, carrying her easily. “You’re on.”

She laughed, exhilarated by his strength. “Honey, you’re not a real blonde like me, but you’re so dumb. This is a bet I win, either way.”

“Yeah, but I have no problem losing to a lady.”

***

Sunday stirred on the bed. Spike dropped the CD cases he was going through and went to stand over her, waiting for her to rise. Blood still marred the side of her neck, staining the wide neckline of her fashionable top, but the wound was perfectly healed underneath, though he’d been somewhat savage in creating it.

“Wakey, wakey, sleeping beauty. Welcome to your new, cooler life.” Spike blew smoke out over Sunday’s twitching form.

Damn, he should have hunted up someone for her to eat. He was always sloppy about these things. Still, she’d woken pretty quickly on him. Not even two full nights!

Sunday pulled herself up on her elbows, her frown wrinkling into vampiric features. “Oh. My. God.”

“Good morning, Sunshine. Well, afternoon.” He glanced at the window, where sunlight bleed in around the edges of the towel he’d thrown over the blinds. “We could sneak around the building, but we’ll have to wait until dark to really hunt. Bet you’re starving.”

She stood, rubbing her stomach, and then stared at the empty mirror over the dresser, her hand passing over her face. “I’m a vampire? Wicked!”

“That you are, love.” Spike tilted his head, smiling. He came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “The world is our oyster and I bet you’re just ready to crack it op…”

Sunday spun around, pushing him away. “Excuse me? Did I say you could stay the night?”

“Uh, it’s been two nights, actually. You take a while to come back, after dying. And did I mention I am your _sire_ , now?”

“Sire? Whatever.” She pushed him gently toward the door. “I told you: I don’t play the rebound game.”

“But this isn’t… oi! I gave you immortal life!”

“And thanks for that, really.” She picked up his duster and pressed it into his chest. “But I’ve got a list of enemies to kill and minions to make. Go… do whatever you do.”

In short order, Spike found himself standing in the dorm hallway, holding his duster and staring in disbelief at the closed door. Inside, he could hear a phone dialing, and then Sunday’s chipper voice, “Monica! Hi! Oh, I’m _so sorry_ about that. Don’t you think it’s time we made up? Mochas on me, what do you say? Oh, I was thinking sunset?”

Sourly, he made his way to the first floor and scouted out the easiest sewer entrance – the morning walk of shame was that much more humiliating when you couldn’t step into the sun.

Years later, looking back, he blamed that bint for the whole Harmony affair.

The moral of the story: don’t try to date blondes in Sunnydale.


End file.
